Chapter Six
By the time the bomb squad left and Michael and Fiona returned to the loft, they'd spent two hours a couple of blocks away waiting while Miami's finest did their jobs and removed all the lethal gifts O'Neill and his men left in and around the warehouse building.
It was a surprising number of devices. Fi, Michael, Sam and Max were each troubled by the number, quality and the length of time it'd taken O'Neill to accomplish that.
Capturing the thugs waiting for O'Neill at the bottom of the stairs to Michael's loft wasn't much of a task, it turned out. Michael and Max coordinated then choreographed their move. Once Max's team arrived silently and was in place outside the rusty security gate, Michael and Sam stepped out on the landing at the top of the stairs, guns drawn, while Max's ground team burst through the gates.
O'Neill's men were startled into submission from above and below. The only critic was Fi.
"That was Sam style, Michael. Was Max a SEAL, too?" Fi muttered after it was over and done. "Just blow in there, wham. Tactically, you should have waited for O'Neill to return so you could have taken him and whoever else he has working with him. It was a mistake, Michael."
"Probably. But circumstances have changed, Fi." He chained her gaze before she backed down. He wouldn't have done it that way, either, but he wasn't risking her or the child she carried.
"Kinda anti-climatic, wouldn't you say?" Sam said, grinning. "I say we need to do more jobs like this."
"What? Get captured and then call someone to save us?" Fi wondered.
Not a single shot had been fired. O'Neill had been captured a few blocks away as he exited a gas station bathroom, something Sam found highly amusing. "The idiot."
History had already shown them O'Neill was an idiot, a useful fool people with agendas could use for their purposes. Michael was most curious about the people with agendas. That twitch he couldn't stop, twitched. Something was just not right here.
Max reported they'd identified and linked security breaches at the Irish prison where O'Neill had been held; several in London linked to another at the Miami Port Authority. The final count was not in on how many had been detained or were incarcerated.
Fi mourned as her car was towed past them; it would be examined more extensively before being released to her. "I like that car, and I'm going to miss it. "
"Yeah, that sweet ride has cooties now," Sam commiserated. "But you'll get it get back, Fi."
While they were waiting to return to the loft, Fiona had been able to remove the rest of the heavy tape from her hair. Michael had grabbed a bottle of adhesive remover as they left the loft.
Michael had not said much as the evening progressed and they waited. There were several questions that tickled his awareness, but now that they were being allowed to return to the loft, his focus changed.
He knew he'd have a report to write about the incident with O'Neill, and he'd realized then there was still the problem with Fi's past, at least in the eyes of those who scrutinized such things for the CIA. His former IRA-operative needed to be safe and stay safer if she was going to have a baby. He clenched his jaw. If she wanted to have a baby, that was.
Michael realized this day had wings of lead. It seemed as if two centuries had passed since just this morning when he'd realized Fi was pregnant.
When they returned to the loft, Fi headed straight for the shower. He could see she was exhausted, moving in slow motion now, and irritable. She threatened bodily harm if he asked her one more time how she was feeling. He didn't really think asking three times was too much.
She was in their bed, almost asleep when Michael got out of the shower and joined her. He left the towel on the floor and slid next to her in the bed and put his arms around her, pulling her closer.
She turned at his touch and melted against him. "I love you, Michael," she said. He kissed her cheek, her mouth, her throat. "I love you, too."
Fiona was asleep almost instantly, but it had taken Michael much, much longer. That's when he wondered why it had taken them so long to say such beautifully simple words.
A conscience is a terrible thing to be plagued with, and Fi's was capable of inflicting more damage on herself than anyone could imagine. It tickled her awareness like an alarm clock.
Rain. It rained every day in Miami, she'd learned since she moved here. Some days there were storms, some days not, but every afternoon, it rained. It soothed, calmed and cleansed. She especially liked it when a storm front arrived in the early morning hours, hid the sun and greyed the atmosphere as it had this morning.
She awoke because she was uncomfortably warm, and the why of that became obvious when she realized Michael was spooned against her back, one strong arm wrapped around her, his hand splayed across her abdomen. She could feel his soft breath against the nape of her neck. Part of her wanted to stretch, but the heart of her heart wasn't ready to jeopardize such a luxurious sensation by moving.
Simply sleeping with him, bare skin to bare skin had convinced her long ago there must be a heaven with this tiny foretelling glimpse of earthbound peace.
When the soft breath against her neck turned into tiny kisses, she pulled away before Michael's overture became a full-blown symphony. That only gave him the opening he needed to turn and lower his mouth to hers. And then she was lost. Again. They slipped together as naturally as long time lovers do, and when they were complete, she realized there were tears streaming down her face.
And he could see them.
The pain of possessing the new life-giving force inside her battled with hurtful secrets and had ruptured. Michael moved, freeing her movements, and when she started to pull away as if to leave their bed, he kept her there with simple words. "Please. Don't go."
She eased back down and he held her to him as he had all night. Because she did not have the courage to turn and face him she focused on the texture of the sheet on the bed. Fibers woven together in a pattern that made sense instead of what she had done with her life.
Her voice was soft, barely louder than the rain. "Do you remember our first night?"
"I remember."
"You asked if I was safe."
He paused before answering. "You said you were taking something."
She could hear the rain drumming against the windows as her memory took her back to that night she kept precious in her memory. "I lied. I didn't want to . . . wait to love you, so I lied. And then you were gone. I couldn't find you anywhere."
"I said I was sorry, Fi."
"I know. But when you left, you left me with part of you . . . and then I lost it."
When Michael didn't respond, Fi continued quickly because she needed to release the wretched thing that had chained her psyche for so long.
"I don't know what happened. I don't think I did anything, but I must've. It was just a couple of months after you left. I went to my mum's for something and the next thing I knew I was on my knees. I lost your babe, Michael. And I didn't want to, oh, how I did not want to."
All these years later, the pain remained as excruciating as if it had just happened. She took a steadying breath. "My mum figured out it was yours. She had seen us together when you got hurt that time and we went to her house and guessed we were involved. She was so angry with me, at you, everyone. Claire was gone, then you left, and then I lost our babe. I think . . . for a while . . . I didn't know how to breathe.
"But then I got angry. I didn't care about anythin'. I couldn't. Anythin' they wanted me to do, I did. I had to. They kept calling me the crazy bomber and I was because I was hopin' to die. Then you came back and . . .
"We kept meetin' and I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. When we were together after that, I tried protectin' myself because I couldn't do that again. You always disappeared so fast, like you'd never been there. When I moved to New York and I thought, finally, that's done. That part of my life is over. No more Michael Westen. Book closed. I'll just live my life like I want and, then that hotel maid called me. So I came to see you again. It wasn't that long before it happened . . . again."
Fi heard herself slipping into her Irish speech patterns, and couldn't help herself. But there was still another sin to confess.
"That was the first night we made love here. In this bed. I was bein' reckless again, and you were right. Violence used to . . . "
She cleared her throat. "But not after that. Then Bly came by the next day with his file and all you could think about was the lies they were tellin' about you. And you know how that works when you start hidin' the truth? If you do it long enough, it's not like it's the lie it is.
"When I had that miscarriage, I wanted to tell you, but Carla was here. So I was angry, maybe at you but mostly about losin' a babe again. I started tormentin' you with Campbell. I know you thought . . . we slept in the same bed once but we didn't. I couldn't. I know I shouldn'ta done that, but he was smart enough to see where my heart was. I told him I was sorry, but I didn't want to tell you . . . then."
Lifting the weight of horrible secrets comes with a price. Fi could only hope revealing the wrong would not mean losing what had always felt right-being with Michael.
"What I'm tryin' to say is I am sorry about losin' your babes. I was wrong not tellin' you. I'm hoping you can forgive me because I want these babes now to have you. "
Fiona wiped the tears that had been coursing down her face with her hands, and turned to look at Michael who had remained perfectly still and silent behind her while she was unburdening her heart.
When she looked at him, her tears freely flowed again.
His eyes were as wet as hers, and as she met gaze, he pulled her into a savage embrace and began caressing her face, every inch, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her chin with his lips, his mouth, his kisses.
"No, no, no, no, no. I'm so, so sorry." His voice cracked with the burden of the pain she had transferred to him. "I'm the one who needs forgiveness."
They stayed like that, silently ministering to each other's tears, tenderly touching each other, forgiving each other, releasing the pain of the past, quelling the storms within and without.
The gentle peace that followed was silent until Michael turned to Fiona and tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
"Fiona, are we having twins?"